Light of Hope
by Ravenclaw Klainer
Summary: The future looks bleak in the eyes of Ginny Weasley, and her hopes are in shatters. Seeking comfort in Harry, Ginny desperately longs for him to be a light in all the darkness.
1. Chapter 1: Tiny Light

Standing in the doorway, Harry looked out across the room. Despite it being night time, the fire was ablaze, and cast a dim, orange glow across the furniture. His eyes swept the room, taking in every detail of the room that was no obscured by darkness. The sofa, the armchair and the coffee table cast shadows across the floor. Another shadow was with them. Harry looked up from the dark silhouette to see Ginny, kneeling in front of the fire, staring absent-mindedly into the dancing flames. Taking a step forward, Harry tried his best to be silent, but the aged floorboard creaked under his foot. Ginny, hearing the noise, spun around.

"Harry," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. In the dim light of the fire, her pale skin was tinted yellow, and her chocolate eyes were faintly illuminated. Neither of them moved for several moments, until Harry walked slowly towards her. Sitting down beside her, Harry noticed how the flickering light from the fire caught her red hair, making it glimmer softly.

"Harry," Ginny said again, slightly louder this time. For a while, they both sat, not speaking. They didn't need to speak. They simply understood. Merely days ago, they had participated in the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting with unflawed bravery. That experience alone was enough: the pain, the confusion, the crushed hope. But in addition, they had both lost so much. Family and friends had been murdered before their very eyes as they fought to prevent such a thing from happening. Fred, Lupin, Tonks, and many others had lost their lives in just one miserable night.

Harry finally broke the silence.

"I don't think we'll ever get over it really," he said, referring to the events they'd witnessed, "It's enough to scar a person for life." Ginny met his gaze. He could see the pain. Her eyes glistened with tears. The light had disappeared from the deep pools of hazel, and had been replaced by a shocking emptiness. Slowly, she shook her head, his hair swishing gently about her shoulders.

"We can't stay like this forever," she replied, the melancholy echoing in her voice, "People have lives they can't afford to leave unattended." It pained Ginny to even say this aloud. As far as she was concerned, too much had been taken away for people to just pick up where they left off. How could they sit down for dinner as a family, knowing that there would be an empty chair? How could she go back to school, knowing that her classmates woudn't all be joining her? How could she get on with her life, when so many others had been denied the chance? But Ginny knew that it was an inevitability that things would move on. No one had a choice. Despite her efforts to hold them back, tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Harry laced his fingers through hers, and simply let Ginny cry. He understood.

"I couldn't sleep," Ginny explained, sniffing, "So I came downstairs. I was going to read, but I couldn't concentrate." Her and Harry had walked together to the kitchen, and she sat on a stool while he made tea. "I haven't slept properly for the past couple of nights actually. I've just been...preoccupied." Gratefully, Ginny took a mug of tea from Harry, who pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat with her. She brushed away a stray tear with the sleeve of her night dress.

"I know what you mean," he said, sipping his tea, "It's like I don't have time to sleep, with all the grieving and the memories. At some point, we're even supposed to be happy, I mean, Voldemort's gone. I wonder when I'm going to fit that in." Ginny smiled weakly. Harry put down his mug, and looked Ginny in the eyes. "We'll get through this, Ginny, we all will." He hugged her softly, then left the kitchen. Ginny did not follow him, but she listened to his footsteps as he headed back to the room he and Ron were sharing. As hard as it was for her to realise, Ginny realised Harry was right. She nodded stiffly to herself, tucking her hair (signature Weasley red) behind her ear. Catching sight of his neglected mug of tea, Harry's words replayed in Ginny's mind, comforting her. Smiling Ginny set down her tea, and headed back off to bed, where for the first time in days, she slept soundly.


	2. Chapter 2: Miniature Flame

Wearily, Ginny opened her eyes. Sunlight was desperately trying to penetrate her curtains, casting glints of morning light across the worn, biscuit-brown carpet. Still only half awake, she forced herself to get out of bed, leaving the comfortable softness of her quilt behind. Stumbling over to her wardrobe, Ginny found herself smiling as she remembered Harry's comforting words from the night before. They had filled her up with sort of warmth, which stopped all her feelings of despair in their gloomy tracks. Apparently, this was enough to buy Ginny one precious night's sleep, which came with a calmness she barely recognised. After this unexpected but overly necessary rest, Ginny was refreshed, and she dressed and headed to the kitchen in higher spirits than she had felt for a while.

Since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Fred's death, Molly Weasley had taken to busying herself in an attempt to not have time to grieve. On entering the kitchen, Ginny noticed her mother hurrying about the room in search of things to clean or tidy. She seemed almost excited on realising that George had finished his breakfast, because it meant she could wash up his plate. Ginny scanned the room. George was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing off his cup of pumpkin juice, and Mr Weasley sat opposite him, reading the Daily Prophet. Hermione was standing against the wall, near the window, reading a rather heavy looking book, glancing out the window occasionally. There was however, no sign of Ron or (to Ginny's great disappointment) Harry.

"Hey Mum," she said, heading towards the table and taking the seat next to her father, "Where's –" As if on cue, Ron trudged into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. His feet shuffled noisy along the floor, his orange dressing gown cord dragging along behind them.

"Whasabreakfast?" He grumbled, looking up at his mother, who had begun whisking eggs at an alarming pace. Instead of the answer he had hoped for, his reply came in the form of a question from Ginny.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, trying to sound casual as she sipped her juice. Ron lumbered over, collapsing lazily down on the chair by George.

"Dunno," he said, "He left a few hours ago." He paused to stifle a yawn. "But he took his broom. He'll probably be back in a bit. What's it to you anyway?" Blushing slightly, Ginny shrugged, and became suddenly interested in the plate of eggs Mrs Weasley was bringing towards her. On setting down her children's food, Mrs Weasley seemed to become rather jittery on not having anything to do. She took to brushing lint from the suit her husband was wearing which, evidently, made him somewhat disgruntled.

As morning blurred into afternoon, Harry was still absent from the Burrow, unaware that Ginny anxiously awaited his return. His presence alone made her feel better. He was like a flicker of hope in a dying fire. A diminutive cinder, refusing to be put out. She sat at home, longing for him to make his way through the door, so that she could run to him, throw her arms around him, let him tell her that he would help her to get through. Through the progression of the day, Ginny watched her father leave for work, worry lines creasing his forehead, dark rings underneath his sunken eyes. She put up with her uneasy mother, who was still bustling around, readjusting every cushion and straightening every picture on the wall. She saw George sulking, wallowing in his own misery, at not being able to share the day with his departed and sorely missed twin. She envied Ron and Hermione, who spent every waking moment with their fingers intertwined, whispering softly to each other. Afternoon faded into the darkness of evening. The sky was draped in deep purple velvet, but not a single star shone through. Only the moon, in all its solitude, glared coldly down at Ginny, almost completely smothering the tiny light of optimism. A blast of cold wind slapped Ginny in the face, catching her attention. She turned towards the door to see Harry wander in, clutching his Firebolt.

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, taking all her effort not to fling herself at him.

"Hi, Ginny," he said, a little surprised at her enthusiastic greeting. He smiled at her, then headed towards the hallway.

"Hey, wait," Ginny called, following him. He turned back towards her. Ginny, all of a sudden, could think of nothing to say. She wanted to say how much she wished she had been with him, or how much she had missed him in his absence. She wanted to tell him that she didn't want him to ever leave, and then pull him over to her so they could sit together by the fire. "D'you want a game of Exploding Snap?"

For the remainder of the evening, Harry and Ginny played Exploding Snap, as well as a game of Wizard Chess, which Harry won. They both laughed and joked, enjoying the games. After a second game of chess, when Ginny's queen refused to step onto the board again, suffering from some severe neck injuries, they cleared away, and sat talking. Ginny forgot about her sorrows once more as she giggled with Harry. Harry told Ginny that he had been flying his Firebolt in the woods behind the Burrow, but had flown into a tree when swerving to avoid a bird. He'd pulled up his trouser leg to reveal a dark purple bruise on this ankle, which Ginny fixed for him magically, laughing at him. Thanking her, Harry stood up and stretched.

"Night, Ginny," he said, picking up his broom. Ginny stood up with him.

"Thanks, Harry, you always seem to make me feel better," she blushed, but kept his gaze, then broke it to kiss him. She felt happiness spread warmly through her body, as though someone had switched the blood in her veins with hot chocolate. Breaking apart, Harry smiled at her, a faint, dusty glow in his bottle green eyes. Ginny only realised then that Harry had his arms wrapped around her.

"Night, Ginny," he repeated, a lot quieter than before. He left without another word. Ginny leant against the wall. _Stop it; _she thought to herself, _You're smiling too much – you only kissed, that's nothing new. _But Ginny didn't care. The miniscule glimmer of light had intensified into a miniature flame. Miniature, but fighting to grow.


	3. Chapter 3: All Gone

***DISCLAIMER* JK Rowling owns Harry Potter**

**AN: Thanks for bothering to read my fanfic! It would make me very happy (:D) if you'd review...**

On the day of Fred's funeral, the whole Burrow was different. The already bleak atmosphere had darkened to a level so miserable a dementor could glide across the scene and have no effect. In any case, a dementor wouldn't want to float in, since there were no happy thoughts for it to steal. Every member of the household seemed to be living a sort of numb, half-existence that lacked any feeling other than melancholy. A limp rain trickled from the grey sky. Clearly no one was able to sleep, because the entire household had congregated in the kitchen early in the morning. Despite the dreary weather and disappearance of the sun behind various clouds, no one had thought to bring any light to the kitchen. Mrs Weasley loaded unnecessarily large quantities of over-buttered toast onto plates, which everyone ate half-heartedly, not really feeling in the mood to eat. George didn't bother. He sat on the floor, barely awake, not speaking, staring at the wall in front of him. No one attempted to comfort him, because they all understood.

The funeral was terrible. As Fred's friends, schoolmates and family gathered together, tears spilling from many eyes, it was hard not to be bitter. Fred had not needed to die. He was so young, so good. But that was war; Loss for gain. But to anyone who attended that day, despite the necessity for Voldemort to be killed, even his defeat stood weakly as far as compensation for Fred went. When final farewells had been muttered, the guests left, leaving the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione standing quietly around Fred's grave. The eerie, heavy silence pressed on Ginny's ears as she stood, completely lost. She would never see her brother again. A boy she had grown up with and idolised. Gone. The idea overwhelmed her, overlapping her senses and engulfing her mind, pulling her into nothingness. A steady stream of tears dripped off of her cold face, but she made no effort to hide them. Her arms, in any case, had become locked to her sides as the shock sunk further into her system. George, understandably, lost control of his emotions first, collapsing onto his knees with his head in his hands, his fringe hanging limply over his fingertips. Crouching beside him, Mrs Weasley hugged her son tightly, crying into his shoulder. Those who remained standing gathered around George and Mrs Weasley, kneeling with them, whispering words of comfort. Harry had his arm around Ginny, who had rested her head on his shoulders, letting her crimson hair fall across her face like a curtain. She wished that all her grief would float away with the chilling breeze, deep into the trees where it could be lost forever. But it didn't. Her heart ached with a pain she did not know was possible. Echoes of the love being wrenched from her heart swam in her head dizzyingly. The tears in her eyes were oozing with memory, leaving trails of hurt as they trickled away.

When the time came that they were able to drag George away from the remains of his twin, the group returned to the Burrow. The situation did not become any less distressing on their return. As soon as they entered the house, everyone split off, heading back to places where they could mourn. Ginny, who was still clutching Harry's hand, was forced to let go so that she could retreat in solitude to her bedroom. She suspected that Hermione would have stayed glued to Ron, as she would have done with Harry. However, she needed to grieve, at least for a little while, alone. Running to her room and shutting the door behind her, Ginny fell into a chair in the corner of the room and cried until her eyes were red and she could cry no more. Still sobbing quietly, she headed over to the window. Leaning on the window sill, she traced the trail of a rain drop as it tumbled down the glass.

"Freddie," she whispered, not really sure where she was talking to, "I miss you so much." The tears returned to her eyes, but she swept them away with the back of her hand. "It's just not fair. You shouldn't have died. It...It's silly. And George, oh George, he's in denial. He can't eat, he doesn't talk to anyone. Oh, Fred." Resting her head against the window pane, Ginny looked out onto the garden. Sitting under a large leaf was a fat potato-like gnome. Reminiscences of gnome throwing contests with her brothers – _all _of her brothers – plagued Ginny's head. She gave up, and slumped against the wall. Someone had thrown a bucket of water over her hope. It was all gone. Every last cinder.


	4. Chapter 4: Burning a Little Brighter

**AN: Hello Again, readers! Thanks for reading, and I'd be even more thankful if you reviewed. Enjoy the chapter. Oh, and by the way, in this I call George a teenager. I'm not sure if he is at this point, but oh well, you know what I mean.**

"I want you out of the house – all of you," Mrs Weasley looked at the group of teenagers, all looking tired and pale, each wearing expressions showing varying levels of forlornness.

"Mum can't we just –" Ginny started, but Mrs Weasley cut her off.

"I don't want to hear it," she waved her hand dismissively, "None of you have been out of the house in days, and you all look to need some sun." It was true. Days had dragged by since the funeral and not one of them had so much stepped out of the front door. "Anyway," she continued, choosing to ignore Ron's irritated mumbling, "I've got cleaning to get on with, and you'll just be getting in the way. Come on, it's a lovely day," she smiled cheerfully, gesturing to the window. The sunlight was indeed streaming through the window with more brightness than usual, as if someone had turned up the intensity. Even the grass seemed to have swapped its rather dull colouring for a perkier shade of jade. "Why not take your brooms?" Mrs Weasley went on, evidently hoping for some enthusiasm, "Ron, you've still got your old one, you can lend that to Hermione. Oh, you can make a day out of it..." Taking out her wand, she gave it a flick, and a large wicker picnic basket appeared, landing with a _thump _on the kitchen table, which creaked nervously. "Oh don't look so miserable! You all need a bit of fun. Go and get the brooms Ron, there's a dear. Right, off you go, I'll just – _pack!_" Another wand flourish, and food began to zoom out of cupboards, falling neatly into the basket. A few seconds later, a large bottle of Butterbeer followed which apparently forgot to move at the same time as the other supplies. Mrs Weasley stuffed a red and yellow checked blanket into the already full basket, slamming down the flap that acted as a lid to prevent the tightly squashed contents from spilling out. Unenthusiastically, Hermione picked up the basket, almost dropping it as she underestimated the weight. With that, Mrs Weasley shooed them out of the back door.

"Good bye, yes come back before it gets to dark. Try to smile, Ginny dear. Okay, bye-bye!" With one final wave, Mrs Weasley shut the door behind them, then leant against the wall, mopping her brow with the back of her hand. With a sigh of exhaustion laced with relief, she untucked a duster from her apron and headed to the living room.

They trudged towards the orchard behind the Burrow, barely speaking. The silence was only punctuated by Ron's loud and heated swearing when he tripped over, falling flat on his face. Once they had reached the trees, Hermione dropped the large picnic basket on the soft earth and sat down beside it. From the small beaded bag she had brought along, Hermione (with some difficulty) retrieved a fat brown book, the cover embossed with a series of gold, complex looking runes.

"Hey Hermione, I thought we were, you know, flying?" Ron said, gesturing to George, Ginny and Harry who had their brooms on their shoulders. Hermione, however, had already begun to read, tracing the text with her finger.

"Oh no, not for me," she wrinkled her nose, tearing her eyes away from her reading, "You can all play Quidditch, but I'd much rather read." With a nonchalant shrug, she added "I'm hopeless at flying anyway – we'll all be better off if I keep myself firmly on the ground. In any case, that's where I'd rather be." Determined for that to be the final word, she turned her gaze back to the book.

"Lugged this up here for nothing then," Ron grumbled, tossing his old Shooting Star towards Hermione, who squealed and shifted swiftly to avoid. Shooting a glare at Ron, she returned to the text she had been reading.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry said, with no real bitterness to his tone, "It's not a big deal. We don't have enough for teams really, so we could just practice instead of playing a game?" He looked to Ginny for an opinion, which she quickly returned.

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding, "We'll throw apples like we used to." On cue, Hermione flicked her wand at the tree she was sitting by, and four shiny, light green apples fell into her lap. She threw them at Ginny. Ginny shoved two apples into her pockets, tossed one at Harry and kept one in her hand. Behind her, George made an attempt to sulk off behind a tree, but Ginny pulled him back by the t-shirt.

"Come on, Georgie," Ginny said with an encouraging smile, "You love flying!"

"We would've preferred not to be here either, mate," Ron interjected, "But since Mum's kicked us out, we might as well have a bit of fun." Harry and Ginny nodded.

"Fine," George muttered sulkily, mounting his broom. The others followed suit, and they all took off.

They flew for at least two hours, throwing the apples for each other to catch. Despite his earlier grumpiness, George's mood lifted as they played, so that he laughed with the others.

"Can we start the picnic now?" Hermione called up at them eyeing the basket. She had stored the chunky book away in her bag. As the others descended through the air towards her, Hermione took out her wand, and tapped the picnic basket to no reaction.

"Ahem," she said, tapping it again, a little harder this time. As her wand tip left contact with the wicker flap, it sprang open, the checked blanket zooming out and spreading itself neatly on the ground, followed by the rest of the basket's contents. Ginny, Harry, Ron and George had all reached the ground at this point, and they sat down by the blanket as the last of the food sped towards them. Greedily, Ron began loading his plate with everything he could reach.

"Hungry, Ron?" Ginny grinned, as he grabbed a sausage roll.

"Just don't want to waste it," he replied, dropping a chicken leg onto his plate. Seemingly satisfied with the volume of food in front of him, he picked up a sandwich and sniffed it suspiciously.

"Is this corned beef?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Jam," George piped up, his mouth full of cheese. Of the whole group Mrs Weasley had evicted, he had benefitted most from the day out of the house. Being in the fresh air and flying his broom had reminded him of what he enjoyed doing. For a few moments, the only sounds were those of chewing and swallowing.

"Treacle tart!" Harry broke the silence, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his favourite dessert. Giggling, Ginny passed him a slice, and then took one for herself.

Plates were soon empty and the five of them were soon full. The only proof that there had been a picnic was a few crumbs and a Butterbeer spillage. Ron had eaten a considerably overlarge helping, and was looking slightly sick as a result.

"Too much apple pie..."he mumbled, rubbing his stomach. With the basket packed with dirty plates and empty Butterbeer bottles, they set off back down the hill towards the Burrow. Laughing, smiling, and feeling content, Ginny's optimism perked up a little. Someone had added some wood to her fire, and her hope burned a little brighter than before.


	5. Chapter 5: Box of Matches

**AN: Hello, Readers! Not much actually happens in this chapter, but I needed to round some things off. This is, I regret, the penultimate chapter in this fan fiction, enjoy it while it lasts **

They were greeted on entering the Burrow, by Mr and Mrs Weasley, both wearing serious expressions. Ron leant towards the back of George's head and hissed "What did we do?" Mr Weasley spoke first.

"We've decided we need to have a talk with you all about the future," he said. George tried to suppress a groan, but did so unsuccessfully, making Ginny shove her fist in her mouth to prevent a fountain of giggles. She looked around at the others: Hermione had her eyebrows raised, and Harry and Ron were exchanging glances of displeasure.

"Come on, sit down now," Mrs Weasley gestured to the kitchen table, indicating that they should sit, "Nothing to look so miserable about, dears. We just want to have a little chat with you all. You too, George," she beckoned him back (George had attempted to depart quickly down the hallway) Positioning herself next to Mr Weasley at the top of the table, Mrs Weasley smiled.

"Now then," she began, "We'd like to know what your plans are for the future." She looked expectantly at those sitting around the table. To her right, Hermione sat beside Ron, who had his arm on the back of her chair. To he left sat Ginny and Harry, who had their hands clasped under the table. At the end of the table sat George. As Mrs Weasley took in her son's appearance, she was glad to realise that some of the misery had lifted from his face. Beside him at the table, however, George had left a person-sized gap where Fred would usually have sat. Fred. Mrs Weasley's eyes threatened to fill with fresh tears, but she managed to keep her composure. A few quiet seconds passed before Ginny spoke up.

"Well, I'm going back to school," she said, with a hint of glumness, "I doubt you'd let me drop out." Mrs Weasley nodded approvingly.

"I'm going back to the shop," said George, glancing quickly at the empty space beside him.

"Are you sure, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked her son in concern. The last thing she wanted was him having a constant Fred-shaped reminder of his grief.

"Yes," he replied simply, "It would be a waste if I didn't – all that money and work. Oh, and I said Ron could come." Ron grinned; Mrs Weasley frowned.

"I'm just doing George a favour, he needs some help until he finds someone full time," Ron assured her, "I'm only staying 'til George gets business going again, and I've worked out what I'm doing."

"Harry, dear?" Mrs Weasley turned to him, "What are you going to do?" Harry paused for a moment.

"I still want to be an Auror."

"Then you'll need to do your NEWTs," Mrs Weasley started, "Aurors need –"

"Actually, Molly," interrupted Mr Weasley, who had been observing quietly until then, "The Auror office has decided that anyone who fought in the Battle can sign up without qualifications. Anyway, Harry's OWLs make a good impression, and well, he's _Harry._" Ginny turned to Harry, who was smiling slightly – she could tell he was glad he wouldn't need to return to school. Hermione spoke next.

"I for one _am _going back to school," she said, choosing to ignore the look of disgust Ron had now plastered across his face, "I'd like to have some NEWTs under my belt. But before that..." She took a deep breath. "I'm going to find my parents. They're still somewhere in Australia. I'm going to find them, lift the memory charm I put on them, and bring them home. After that, I'll go back to Hogwarts with Ginny –" (Ginny beamed) "– and I'll decide on a career then."

"I'll come with you," Ron added.

"Back to school?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"God, no – to Australia!"

"You don't have to. Anyway, you're going to the shop."

"But I'm going with you first."

Hermione sighed.

"Alright then," she said, "The company will be nice."

"That's all settled then!" Mrs Weasley seemed happy with the arrangements, "Everyone knows what they're doing. Well, you can all go now, since everything's sorted." Satisfied, she left the room.

"I'm off too, kids," said Mr Weasley, "I've got to talk to Kingsley." Grabbing his cloak, Mr Weasley waved, then disapparated.

Fred left for his bedroom, followed by Ron and Hermione, who were discussing the best way to get to Australia. Ginny remained in her chair, still clutching Harry's hand. In her head, she was weighing everything up. She'd known she was going back to Hogwarts for a while. After all, it was the most sensible thing to do. She'd get to see her friends, but she'd constantly be reminded of the Battle, not to mention Fred's death. Hermione would be joining her, which was a plus. But Harry wouldn't. Ginny would be going back to Hogwarts without the beacon of light that so often led her out of darkness. She'd be leaving him behind, and returning to the place she was sure to need him most. She'd have to endure weeks without his comfort.

"I'll write," Harry said softly, piercing her bubble of thought. Ginny smiled; it was like he could read her mind, or at least her expression.

"And I'll see you during the holidays," he continued, "And maybe we could meet up in Hogsmeade." Squeezing her hand, he finished with "We'll be okay."

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, resting her head on his shoulder, "How come you always know how to make me feel better?"

"I don't know Ginny," he replied, brushing a lock of her red hair behind Ginny's ear, "But if it helps, let's just leave it at that." They both laughed.

Harry always seemed to have a box of matches when the flames of Ginny's hope threatened to die out.


	6. Chapter 6: Roaring Fire

**AN: This is the last chapter of this fan fiction . It's short and fluffy, but I like it. I hope you enjoy what's left of it. I will be writing another fan fiction, which is yet to be titled, which will be a kind of loose follow on from this one. Watch this space. But for now – read away!**

Even for summer, it was a particularly hot day. The tall, dry grass swayed minimally in the almost non-existent breeze. Sitting, looking out on the dehydrated land in front of the Burrow, Ginny closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the unstirred air surround her. Sweeping her hair out of her face, she picked up a fallen leaf, twirling it absently between her fingers. Suddenly, Ginny felt more than just sunlight on the back of her head – she could feel eyes watching her. Choosing not to move, Ginny waited, listening to the sound of Harry's footsteps as he came towards her. As he sat beside her, Ginny felt a sense of déjà vu, remembering how he had comforted her many nights ago.

"Let's be happy for a change," Harry suggested, squinting up at the sun.

"About what?" Ginny replied blankly, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Anything," said Harry, "We deserve some happiness."

"You're right, I know you are," Ginny sighed and looked at him, "It's just hard. You know that, of course." There was a pause.

"I understand," Harry offered, probably just to break the silence which was edging towards awkward boundaries. And Ginny kissed him, before throwing her arms around him and burying her head in his shoulder.

"You're amazing," she mumbled, her voice muffled against his t-shirt, "You always seem to _know_. Whenever I'm down, you just come along, all awe-inspiring and full of love, and you make me feel better. Just like that. You are so _amazing_, Harry." Harry responded by laughing softly.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said.

Ginny didn't feel the need to cry (she reserved her tears for occasions of real grief) but she could feel emotion building up inside of her. Catching Harry's gaze, she saw in his eyes the mutual understanding they shared which made him so perfect. This emphatic quality was magnetic, a gravitational pull. It called Ginny like a personal Siren's song, yet it was of the most beautiful intention. Not only that, but it was like fire-lighter to Ginny's hope, triggering an explosion of dancing light that repelled the shadows.

"Ginny," Harry said, "It's going –"

" –to be okay," Ginny finished for him with a bright smile, her hope's fire roaring merrily, "You told me that before."


End file.
